Hands of a clock continue to rotate changing the hours and minutes of each day hidden within it's being.
Aerodynamically, time speeds through our boundaries and limits, scavenging always for the least resistance.
Partaking of minute particles every day, hands of a clock continue to rotate, counting off our seconds left till death ends an individuals own timepiece kept deep within a mortal body.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem